The Fairytale Of New York Affair
by SpaceBar2017
Summary: Loosely inspired by the great song, 'The Fairytale Of New York', by The Progues. Napoleon persuades a reluctant Illya to spend Christmas Eve with him and the two men enjoy a memorable evening out together in the beautiful city
1. Chapter 1

**Act I:** _"_ _It was Christmas Eve, babe"_

Illya wasn't a fan of Christmas anymore. Back home he used to like it; it was celebrated as a time for family and friends to get together whilst partaking in different traditions. But since moving to the western world, to him it had seemingly lost its true meaning over here; it was merely just another tacky commercial holiday with the main purpose to suck money from those who had it and even worse, from those who didn't.

Napoleon, on the other hand, was a massive fan of Christmas. Of course he was, he was the embodiment of a western man, tacky 'traditions' and all. He loved every aspect of it, shopping for others and himself, indulging in Christmas food, the chance to utilise mistletoe.

Napoleon's love for Christmas was so extreme that that's the only reason Illya was here with him on Christmas Eve. They'd both finished at HQ early evening, as they'd somehow managed to speed through a backlog of paper work and as they were about to part ways after exchanging Christmas pleasantries Napoleon slapped on that charming smile and batted his eyelids. His family, who he usually flew out to spend Christmas with, granted he wasn't on a mission, had last minute decided to go on vacation abroad to spend the holidays this year and Napoleon couldn't join them because they were needed back at work on Boxing Day. He insisted he could somehow survive spending Christmas Day alone if only Illya would keep him company for the rest of Christmas Eve.

Illya at first refused, but when Napoleon had followed him down the road, made a nuisance of himself and Illya just how much it meant to Napoleon not to spend this time alone he gave in.

Illya said that as long as Napoleon had him back home by midnight and didn't leave him hanging anywhere like a gooseberry whilst he went seducing, then Illya would be his company for the evening.

Napoleon had endearingly likened him to Scrooge when he'd changed for the better and in return let Illya decided what to do. That's how they'd ended up in an Irish tavern in the East Village of New York. Illya was fond of the Irish taverns in Manhattan, he'd spent many years living in London when younger for his studies and had on occasion visited Ireland. Although he missed the traditional English pubs, in New York the Irish taverns were as close as he was going to get.

"Another two shots of vodka please, sir." Napoleon called across the bar, slamming some loose change down.

"Four shots in an hour Napoleon. Are you planning to sleep tomorrow away with a headache?"

"You've had the same amount."

"I'm Russian, if anything I can handle my vodka," Illya replied with a smirk. Failing to point out that Napoleon was also more than half way through his second large glass of white wine, whilst Illya was slowly sipping on the same low alcohol content beer.

The bartender took the change and handed over the shots, his thick Irish accent directing Illya to look after this 'lightweight American'. Napoleon looked like he should be offended, but he clearly had no idea what the had just been said and Illya just chuckled along with the bartender.

The two men clinked the small glasses together and downed the vodka in unison. No matter how much he drunk, the burning sensation in the back of his throat was never something that Illya would get used to and he promptly chugged a few mouthfuls of beer to settle it down. Napoleon done no such thing and Illya wondered if he was tipsy enough for the pain to be number or it just didn't shake him anyway.

Despite his initial reluctance to come out this evening, Illya was actually enjoying himself. He was glad he got to pick where to go, not just for the Irish tavern, but he imagined left to Napoleon they'd be doing something annoyingly Christmassy like watching carols, visiting Santa's grotto or last minute gift shopping. Whilst the tavern did have a tree up and a few decorations, with some staff and fellow drinkers in Christmas themed jumpers and paper hats it was pretty tame compared to the rest of the city. Him getting to pick the place wasn't the only reason he was enjoying himself though, it was because he couldn't actually remember a time him and Napoleon had let loose together in personal time like this. They'd gone to the occasional dinner together, usually when Napoleon wanted to test a restaurant ahead of a date, they'd shared drinks undercover or quite often after a mission in a hotel room before they flew back or even as part of a double date sort of thing, but they'd never just gone out together and drunk.

Illya was happy that they were doing that right now, because that's what friends done wasn't it? And here in New York, Napoleon was one of the few, if not only, people that he could call a friend. In fact when he thought about it, Napoleon was probably the only person in years that ever invited him to hang out as normal friends do. Usually from men and women there was an ulterior motive of requesting his company that was either wanting to bed him, wanting his help with something, or a politically correct invite because everyone else in the section was invited to the function and it would be rude to leave him out.

Illya tried not to mind, it wasn't as if he didn't purposely try and keep himself to himself most times and he wasn't exactly taking the first steps to make friends during his downtime. Though he'd allow himself to admit in some very private corner or his brain that it could be kind of lonely occasionally. Perhaps in the new year he'd suggest to Napoleon they do stuff together like this at least once a month if time permitted. Like a platonic date night; they were partners after all.

Illya was so caught up in his thoughts he almost missed the fifth shot glass being thrust into his hand. "Another one," he sighed, swirling around the clear liquid.

"It's Christmas Eve, babe." Napoleon smiled. "Time to be merry."

"Did you just call me babe?" Illya cocked an eyebrow, amused.

Napoleon screwed up his face, done the shot and slammed the empty glass down on the bar. "Nope."

"Yes you did."

"Don't think so, you misheard me. Must've been your accent."

Another eyebrow raised, that didn't even make sense. No more shots for Napoleon or himself either, he thought as the burning liquid trickled down his throat. Five in less than an hour was pushing it even for him, there was only so much his Russian blood could dilute. He scooped up a handful of the complimentary peanuts in a measly effort to try and counteract any effects of the alcohol with food.

"Psst," Napoleon said rather loudly, leaning over to what he thought was whisper in Illya's ear. "Don't look now but right behind you there's two gorgeous women who keep giving us the eye."

"The back of my head must look very attractive to them," Illya deadpanned. "I thought we agreed if I came out tonight you wouldn't leave me to be a third wheel."

"My little Russian," Napoleon said, managing to shuffle up his bar stool and throwing his arm around Illya. "It's not third wheeling if there's a lady for you."

"Have you ever thought, Napoleon, that I don't want a lady?"

"Oh."

There was silence for a moment and then Napoleon cleared his throat. "Oooooooh... Oh.. I didn't realise. Since when? I mean that's none of my business but since when?"

It took a few seconds for Illya to realise what an Earth Napoleon was going on about and he rolled his eyes. "I mean tonight I don't want anyone."

He didn't specify man or woman. It was more amusing to watch tipsy, maybe drunk at this stage, Napoleon try to be discreet in finding out which. Illya was never one to indulge in his romantic life or lack of and despite his prying the only information Napoleon would ever get was what he ever got to witness first hand. Perhaps if they done more stuff like this regularly Illya might divulge a little more over a beer.

"Hey, Illya."

"Yes, Napoleon?"

"1966 is going to be a good year."

"How do you mean?"

"For you and me, it's going to be good. I can't tell, trust me, Kuryakin."

Illya had no idea what Napoleon was on about and any more requests to clarify fell on deaf ears as the agent ungracefully clambered off his barstool and staggered towards the toilets.

Illya looked down at his watch, it had only just gone 8pm, he wondered how much more Napoleon could take of this before passing out, throwing up or both. Illya hadn't seen Napoleon this bad since this intoxicated since a colleague's leaving drinks when Illya had first been assigned to New York and that had been years ago. He wondered if since then Napoleon had made a conscious effort not to drink as much but tonight he'd decided to oppose letting loose on Illya.

At least, as long as there was no sick, it was interesting to watch. Napoleon was always so smooth and composed around everyone, watching him trip over his words and his steps made for good viewing.

Just then Napoleon reappeared, without any explanation he quickly pulled on his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck. "Time to go, Illya." He said, looking flustered, his eyes darting around the place. Illya noted how disheveled he looked, tie askew, shirt partly untucked, hair a mess. It didn't take any stretch of the imagination to guess what he'd just been up to.

Illya looked around the room, but didn't see anything that would have Napoleon so on edge all of a sudden like the young woman he'd just pulled coming towards him brandishing a wedding ring. "I like it here. If we leave here I'm going home, I didn't agree on a bar crawl."

"Can you just come on, Illya." By this point Napoleon was literally tugging at his arm.

"Napoleon, what's wrong?"

Napoleon pulled out a crisp $10 note and slid it under the nut bowl as a tip. A very generous tip, either he really was feeling the Christmas spirit or he was too panicked or drunk to even care.

"One of the lovely ladies giving us the eye followed me to the bathroom," Napoleon finally explained, "but she failed to mention she was waiting for her husband who tuned up early. And he's built like a tank."

Illya smirked, discretion wasn't drunk Napoleon's strong point. "You don't fancy taking him?"

"I mean we could, but he's built like a tank."

"There's no, we in this." Illya said, looking back to where Napoleon was nodding. It wasn't hard to find out who the disgruntled husband was, he was rather large. All fists and knuckles. His eyes scanned over the crowds presumably for Napoleon. Illya didn't fancy drunk Napoleon's chances against him in a fist fight and he himself wasn't looking for a brawl so he hopped off his seat, grabbed his coat and let Napoleon drag him out the establishment.

They ran down the street, not because the brute had followed them, but because Napoleon had taken Illya's hand and he didn't have a choice. They cake to a halt when Napoleon pulled them into an alleyway.

"You know he wasn't following us," Illya pointed out. "Not everyone you annoy is a professional bad guy who's going to hunt you down."

"Hey, you can never be too careful." Napoleon looked down and smiled. It didn't take long for Illya to realise what he was smiling at and pulled his hand out of Napoleon's. He felt the temperature in his cheeks rising and blamed it on the fact the alcohol had just hit him and not because Napoleon holding his hand hadn't felt weird.

"Don't go home yet, Illya," Napoleon pleaded, leaning back against the wall and putting on his wooly hat and gloves that matched his scarf. It was the only time Illya had given him a Christmas present after seeing the set in a shop in Paris and deciding the royal blue would suit him so much it would be a crime against fashion for him not to buy the garments.

And Illya was right, every winter when it was worn the set never failed to look good on him. Not that Illya was paying attention to what looked good on Napoleon or not.

Or maybe he was.

God, he suddenly changed his mind about no more alcohol and decided he needed another vodka. He realised that he hadn't answered Napoleon and against his better judgement didn't reinforce what he early said about going home. "What did you have in mind?"

Napoleon pushed himself off the wall and stepped back into the street, beckoning Illya to stand next to him.

"Look," he stretched his arm out in front of him, "this is New York, the city where dreams come true at the most magical time of the year. The possibilities are endless."

"Napoleon, that's not an answer."

It was such a quick moment that Illya almost didn't realise that Napoleon had slipped his hand into his again and given it a squeeze before letting go and spreading his arms wide. He spun around, unsteadily, nearly hitting a pedestrian and a lamppost. "It's snowing, Illya."

So it was, Illya's nose twitched as the cold substance hit it. He allowed himself a slight smile, despite not liking all the festivity shoved in his face due to the holidays he always admired the picturesque scene of snow over the city.

Illya wasn't a fan of Christmas anymore. Back home he used to like it; it was celebrated as a time for family and friends to get together whilst partaking in different traditions. But since moving to the western world, to him it had seemingly lost its true meaning over here; it was merely just another tacky commercial holiday with the main purpose to suck money from those who had it and even worse, from those who didn't.

Napoleon, on the other hand, was a massive fan of Christmas. Of course he was, he was the embodiment of a western man, tacky 'traditions' and all. He loved every aspect of it, shopping for others and himself, indulging in Christmas food, the chance to utilise mistletoe.

Napoleon's love for Christmas was so extreme that that's the only reason Illya was here with him on Christmas Eve. They'd both finished at HQ early evening, as they'd somehow managed to speed through a backlog of paper work and as they were about to part ways after exchanging Christmas pleasantries Napoleon slapped on that charming smile and batted his eyelids. His family, who he usually flew out to spend Christmas with, granted he wasn't on a mission, had last minute decided to go on vacation abroad to spend the holidays this year and Napoleon couldn't join them because they were needed back at work on Boxing Day. He insisted he could somehow survive spending Christmas Day alone if only Illya would keep him company for the rest of Christmas Eve.

Illya at first refused, but when Napoleon had followed him down the road, made a nuisance of himself and Illya just how much it meant to Napoleon not to spend this time alone he gave in.

Illya said that as long as Napoleon had him back home by midnight and didn't leave him hanging anywhere like a gooseberry whilst he went seducing, then Illya would be his company for the evening.

Napoleon had endearingly likened him to Scrooge when he'd changed for the better and in return let Illya decided what to do. That's how they'd ended up in an Irish tavern in the East Village of New York. Illya was fond of the Irish taverns in Manhattan, he'd spent many years living in London when younger for his studies and had on occasion visited Ireland. Although he missed the traditional English pubs, in New York the Irish taverns were as close as he was going to get.

"Another two shots of vodka please, sir." Napoleon called across the bar, slamming some loose change down.

"Four shots in an hour Napoleon. Are you planning to sleep tomorrow away with a headache?"

"You've had the same amount."

"I'm Russian, if anything I can handle my vodka," Illya replied with a smirk. Failing to point out that Napoleon was also more than half way through his second large glass of white wine, whilst Illya was slowly sipping on the same low alcohol content beer.

The bartender took the change and handed over the shots, his thick Irish accent directing Illya to look after this 'lightweight American'. Napoleon looked like he should be offended, but he clearly had no idea what the had just been said and Illya just chuckled along with the bartender.

The two men clinked the small glasses together and downed the vodka in unison. No matter how much he drunk, the burning sensation in the back of his throat was never something that Illya would get used to and he promptly chugged a few mouthfuls of beer to settle it down. Napoleon done no such thing and Illya wondered if he was tipsy enough for the pain to be number or it just didn't shake him anyway.

Despite his initial reluctance to come out this evening, Illya was actually enjoying himself. He was glad he got to pick where to go, not just for the Irish tavern, but he imagined left to Napoleon they'd be doing something annoyingly Christmassy like watching carols, visiting Santa's grotto or last minute gift shopping. Whilst the tavern did have a tree up and a few decorations, with some staff and fellow drinkers in Christmas themed jumpers and paper hats it was pretty tame compared to the rest of the city. Him getting to pick the place wasn't the only reason he was enjoying himself though, it was because he couldn't actually remember a time him and Napoleon had let loose together in personal time like this. They'd gone to the occasional dinner together, usually when Napoleon wanted to test a restaurant ahead of a date, they'd shared drinks undercover or quite often after a mission in a hotel room before they flew back or even as part of a double date sort of thing, but they'd never just gone out together and drunk.

Illya was happy that they were doing that right now, because that's what friends done wasn't it? And here in New York, Napoleon was one of the few, if not only, people that he could call a friend. In fact when he thought about it, Napoleon was probably the only person in years that ever invited him to hang out as normal friends do. Usually from men and women there was an ulterior motive of requesting his company that was either wanting to bed him, wanting his help with something, or a politically correct invite because everyone else in the section was invited to the function and it would be rude to leave him out.

Illya tried not to mind, it wasn't as if he didn't purposely try and keep himself to himself most times and he wasn't exactly taking the first steps to make friends during his downtime. Though he'd allow himself to admit in some very private corner or his brain that it could be kind of lonely occasionally. Perhaps in the new year he'd suggest to Napoleon they do stuff together like this at least once a month if time permitted. Like a platonic date night; they were partners after all.

Illya was so caught up in his thoughts he almost missed the fifth shot glass being thrust into his hand. "Another one," he sighed, swirling around the clear liquid.

"It's Christmas Eve, babe." Napoleon smiled. "Time to be merry."

"Did you just call me babe?" Illya cocked an eyebrow, amused.

Napoleon screwed up his face, done the shot and slammed the empty glass down on the bar. "Nope."

"Yes you did."

"Don't think so, you misheard me. Must've been your accent."

Another eyebrow raised, that didn't even make sense. No more shots for Napoleon or himself either, he thought as the burning liquid trickled down his throat. Five in less than an hour was pushing it even for him, there was only so much his Russian blood could dilute. He scooped up a handful of the complimentary peanuts in a measly effort to try and counteract any effects of the alcohol with food.

"Psst," Napoleon said rather loudly, leaning over to what he thought was whisper in Illya's ear. "Don't look now but right behind you there's two gorgeous women who keep giving us the eye."

"The back of my head must look very attractive to them," Illya deadpanned. "I thought we agreed if I came out tonight you wouldn't leave me to be a third wheel."

"My little Russian," Napoleon said, managing to shuffle up his bar stool and throwing his arm around Illya. "It's not third wheeling if there's a lady for you."

"Have you ever thought, Napoleon, that I don't want a lady?"

"Oh."

There was silence for a moment and then Napoleon cleared his throat. "Oooooooh... Oh.. I didn't realise. Since when? I mean that's none of my business but since when?"

It took a few seconds for Illya to realise what an Earth Napoleon was going on about and he rolled his eyes. "I mean tonight I don't want anyone."

He didn't specify man or woman. It was more amusing to watch tipsy, maybe drunk at this stage, Napoleon try to be discreet in finding out which. Illya was never one to indulge in his romantic life or lack of and despite his prying the only information Napoleon would ever get was what he ever got to witness first hand. Perhaps if they done more stuff like this regularly Illya might divulge a little more over a beer.

"Hey, Illya."

"Yes, Napoleon?"

"1966 is going to be a good year."

"How do you mean?"

"For you and me, it's going to be good. I can't tell, trust me, Kuryakin."

Illya had no idea what Napoleon was on about and any more requests to clarify fell on deaf ears as the agent ungracefully clambered off his barstool and staggered towards the toilets.

Illya looked down at his watch, it had only just gone 8pm, he wondered how much more Napoleon could take of this before passing out, throwing up or both. Illya hadn't seen Napoleon this bad since this intoxicated since a colleague's leaving drinks when Illya had first been assigned to New York and that had been years ago. He wondered if since then Napoleon had made a conscious effort not to drink as much but tonight he'd decided to oppose letting loose on Illya.

At least, as long as there was no sick, it was interesting to watch. Napoleon was always so smooth and composed around everyone, watching him trip over his words and his steps made for good viewing.

Just then Napoleon reappeared, without any explanation he quickly pulled on his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck. "Time to go, Illya." He said, looking flustered, his eyes darting around the place. Illya noted how disheveled he looked, tie askew, shirt partly untucked, hair a mess. It didn't take any stretch of the imagination to guess what he'd just been up to.

Illya looked around the room, but didn't see anything that would have Napoleon so on edge all of a sudden like the young woman he'd just pulled coming towards him brandishing a wedding ring. "I like it here. If we leave here I'm going home, I didn't agree on a bar crawl."

"Can you just come on, Illya." By this point Napoleon was literally tugging at his arm.

"Napoleon, what's wrong?"

Napoleon pulled out a crisp $10 note and slid it under the nut bowl as a tip. A very generous tip, either he really was feeling the Christmas spirit or he was too panicked or drunk to even care.

"One of the lovely ladies giving us the eye followed me to the bathroom," Napoleon finally explained, "but she failed to mention she was waiting for her husband who tuned up early. And he's built like a tank."

Illya smirked, discretion wasn't drunk Napoleon's strong point. "You don't fancy taking him?"

"I mean we could, but he's built like a tank."

"There's no, we in this." Illya said, looking back to where Napoleon was nodding. It wasn't hard to find out who the disgruntled husband was, he was rather large. All fists and knuckles. His eyes scanned over the crowds presumably for Napoleon. Illya didn't fancy drunk Napoleon's chances against him in a fist fight and he himself wasn't looking for a brawl so he hopped off his seat, grabbed his coat and let Napoleon drag him out the establishment.

They ran down the street, not because the brute had followed them, but because Napoleon had taken Illya's hand and he didn't have a choice. They cake to a halt when Napoleon pulled them into an alleyway.

"You know he wasn't following us," Illya pointed out. "Not everyone you annoy is a professional bad guy who's going to hunt you down."

"Hey, you can never be too careful." Napoleon looked down and smiled. It didn't take long for Illya to realise what he was smiling at and pulled his hand out of Napoleon's. He felt the temperature in his cheeks rising and blamed it on the fact the alcohol had just hit him and not because Napoleon holding his hand hadn't felt weird.

"Don't go home yet, Illya," Napoleon pleaded, leaning back against the wall and putting on his wooly hat and gloves that matched his scarf. It was the only time Illya had given him a Christmas present after seeing the set in a shop in Paris and deciding the royal blue would suit him so much it would be a crime against fashion for him not to buy the garments.

And Illya was right, every winter when it was worn the set never failed to look good on him. Not that Illya was paying attention to what looked good on Napoleon or not.

Or maybe he was.

God, he suddenly changed his mind about no more alcohol and decided he needed another vodka. He realised that he hadn't answered Napoleon and against his better judgement didn't reinforce what he early said about going home. "What did you have in mind?"

Napoleon pushed himself off the wall and stepped back into the street, beckoning Illya to stand next to him.

"Look," he stretched his arm out in front of him, "this is New York, the city where dreams come true at the most magical time of the year. The possibilities are endless."

"Napoleon, that's not an answer."

It was such a quick moment that Illya almost didn't realise that Napoleon had slipped his hand into his again and given it a squeeze before letting go and spreading his arms wide. He spun around, unsteadily, nearly hitting a pedestrian and a lamppost. "It's snowing, Illya."

So it was, Illya's nose twitched as the cold substance hit it. He allowed himself a slight smile, despite not liking all the festivity shoved in his face due to the holidays he always admired the picturesque scene of snow over the city.


	2. Chapter 2

**Act II:** _"_ _We kissed on the corner, then danced through the night"_

For once, Napoleon didn't have a plan. He'd had an initial plan to spend Christmas Eve with Illya and when that surprisingly worked, well he hadn't thought ahead from that. That's why he let Illya pick what they done, Napoleon could've suggested a thousands things, but honestly he didn't know what might've scared Illya off. He didn't spend enough time with Illya outside of work to know what he liked to do in his downtime.

That was all going to change in the new year. His resolution to himself was to get to know his partner better, he imagined they'd both like that. Even if Illya would deny it.

But for now, with no solid plan and having to make a speedy exit from the bar they'd gone to, they jumped on the subway and were now walking across Times Square. It was gorgeous with the snow settling, last minute shoppers rushing along with bags in their hands; mainly men because he would admit they were the least organised, groups of teenagers excitedly discussing what they expected under the tree and kids tugging at their parent's sleeve to point in every shop window whilst the parent threatened them with Santa to behave.

"Sorry i didn't get you anything this year, Illya," Napoleon said as a man carefully carrying a stack of gift wrapped presents passed them. His words came out a bit more slurred than he liked, the walk was doing wonders for helping sober him up but it would take much longer for numerous vodka shots and wine consumed in such a short period of time to wear off.

"It's okay, I will somehow survive."

"I'll buy you a new year present instead. What would ya like?"

"The best gifts, Napoleon aren't material."

The words, that sounded extremely Illya, took a moment to sink in. And then he looked across at his blonde companion to try and work out exactly what he meant. It was futile of course, all that he wore on his face was his trademark half smile.

"Is that some deep way of saying you're not going to fork out on a gift for me?"

"Precisely. Plus, since when do I ever buy you a present?"

"This lovely hat, scarf and gloves."

"A rare moment of madness."

"I should get you a similar set. We can match like real partners."

Illya's smirk got bigger and he glanced across at Napoleon. "In what sense of the word."

"What word?"

"Partners."

Occasionally Napoleon was lost for words and this was one of those times, but it didn't matter. Something had finally caught the Russian's interest. Illya walked over to a crowd of people who had crowded around a temporary stage that was set up. The stage wasn't very high, but you couldn't miss the sound of music coming from it.

"You want me to put you on my shoulders so you can see little buddy?" Napoleon teased slapping Illya's back earning him a scowl.

Whoever was on stage was playing Christmas songs with a contemporary jazzy twist. Napoleon knew that Illya liked music so this was good. By the time the first song ended he wasn't sure if they'd been pushed nearer the front or more people had joined and surrounded them because they were now deep in a crowd of Christmas revellers. Illya didn't seem to mind though, he was well into it and didn't even protest when a cute young woman forced a red Father Christmas hat on his head. It was rather cute.

Napoleon loosened his tie and begun singing along merrily, not even questioning how he knew the words. There wasn't enough space to dance properly but he pumped his fists and was able to do a simple two step in time to the music, even Illya managed to sway side to side. Napoleon made a n executive decision that he definitely should make Illya do vodka shots again sometime, it apparently worked wonders on his usual square like demeanour. He became so engrossed in watching Illya he almost missed when the man gestured for him to follow him through the crowd and he consciously missed all the pretty females smiling at him on the way.

In fact all he wanted to focus on was Illya. Illya in the Santa hat, Illya enjoying the Christmas music, Illya whose nose twitched and scrunched up in a ridiculous cute manner when a snow flake hit it. He hooked his arm over Illya's shoulders and was pleasantly surprised when he wasn't pushed away.

"Has Scrooge realised the error of his ways?"

"Christmas is actually okay, corporate big wigs and annoying people like you that go over the top are not."

"Bah humbug." Napoleon poked his tongue out and much to Illya's delight spluttered when he got a mouthful of snow. It was coming down even harder now, it was undoubtedly going to be a beautiful white Christmas.

With his arm still slung around Illya they walked aimlessly down 7th Avenue. Napoleon's alcohol riddled body tripped over his feet several times, it was annoying being the sort of drunk where his mind was still somewhat clear but his body was having other ideas. Not to mention the very limited inhibitions and self control that he had whilst sober were completely depleted. Perhaps that's why he was rubbing small circles onto Illya's back, even if the younger man probably couldn't feel it over his coat; it was still daring. And not to mention he'd taken a hold of Illya's hand earlier when there was no real reason other than he just wanted to.

A group of young girls passed by them, too young to catch Napoleon's eye, but out of habit he flashed them a friendly smile anyway. They didn't seem interested in him though, they muttered between themselves pointing and giggling at Illya offering him coy smiles, suggestive waves and winks.

"Was that the Illya Kuryakin fan club?" Napoleon asked, amused yet Illya was clearly unamused and Napoleon guessed it wasn't the first time he'd had rambunctious young girls dote on him. Back at HQ he'd been nicknamed the 'Blonde Beatle' after all.

"Are you looking to join? For five dollars you'll get an autographed photo of me."

"I just might," Napoleon chuckled, "you are very pretty."

Napoleon's heart skipped a beat when he realised what he'd just said and not only that, how he'd just said it. Voice two notches lower, words drawn out; something usually reserved for romancing the fairer sex. Illya didn't roll his eyes or anything of the sort though, nope, he turned his head and Napoleon was sure his cheeks were going red just like he was sure they'd gone earlier in the alleyway. It would seem that after a few drinks not even the icy Russian was immune to the charms of Napoleon Solo.

They turned down a small side street after he was certain Illya has muttered something about a subway station. Hopefully Napoleon had misheard. He didn't want the evening to come to an end just yet, he hoped he hadn't crossed the line. Consciously he removed his arm from around Illya and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

They made it to the end of West 49th street and stood on the corner. It wasn't as busy on this street. It was dark, the snow was piling up the only people around this were the last of the drunks and those who looked like they just wanted to reach their destination. No doubt they had families to get to, it was Christmas Eve after all. Napoleon didn't have a family to get to though, not this year. Nor Illya.

"It's late, I should go," said Illya.

"Okay."

"Okay."

Illya was going to get the Subway and Napoleon was going to hail a cab. That didn't happen though, they just stood there as if waiting for the other. Eventually, true to character, Napoleon made the first move. He done something that surprised himself and pulled Illya into a hug.

"Merry Christmas, Illya," he said softly. Keeping a hold of the Russian for long enough that it would probably be questionable for two males. What was even more surprising was when Illya hugged him back, with an added pat on the back as if to reinforce the platonic relationship between them.

"Merry Christmas."

If you'd asked Napoleon a year ago if he was attracted to men he would've just laughed, called the thought of that absurd and found a nice pretty young woman to flirt with just to prove a point. If you asked Napoleon now whether he was attracted to men he would still say no, but it wouldn't be an absurd thought and he wouldn't flirt with a woman just to prove a point. What he would do, he would think about Illya, he would flirt with Illya.

No one had questioned his sexuality though apart from himself. The outcome was the same though. He couldn't pinpoint exactly when it had happened, but there was a point where he just couldn't shove it to the back of his mind anymore he was attracted to Illya without a doubt. He wasn't sure what he wanted to come from it though, but he was more than willing to try and find out.

He didn't know if Illya was attracted to him though. Heck, he didn't even know if Illya was attracted to men in general. He had is suspicions, but that was merely a sixth sense and Illya wasn't exactly the easiest person to read. Not that discussing or using anything that utmost discretion was the done thing when it came to non homosexual relationships. As progressive as America was made out to be, a lot of society was still very critical of anything that didn't fit their white picket fence heterosexual societal 'norms'. Although, when they'd both, somewhat drunkenly on his part, alluded to Illya's sexuality slyly earlier, that wasn't met with Illya telling him that he was strictly a women sort of guy.

It had been a long time since Napoleon was unsure about someone he was attracted to. It was a weird feeling not knowing if they liked him back. He was used to being in control of the situation, the dominant one doing the leading on even if the other party thought it was them. So he didn't think and done what he knew best, took control of the situation in the best way he knew possible.

That's why instead breaking the hug with Illya and attempting to find a cab to hail, he run his hand through the man's blonde hair, knocking the Santa hat to the ground in the process, and kissed him.

It wasn't a particularly long kiss but it was no means just an innocent chaste sort of affair. Napoleon was certain if they weren't in public and the mixture of alcohol and closed eyes making his head spin hadn't caused him to break things off Illya wouldn't have had any problems continuing.

Now they were both blushing and they both looked around to see if anyone had anything to say about it. But if the drunk couple singing a 'we wish you a merry Christmas' out loud the opposite side of the street had noticed, they clearly didn't care.

"Sorry," Napoleon said, he wasn't even sure it was loud enough for Illya to hear. He didn't know why he was apologising, it wasn't as if Illya hadn't kissed him back.

Illya looked at him with that damn annoying expressionless look he had perfected and raised an eyebrow. "No mistletoe? Not very festive, Napoleon."

"That's coming from you, Mr Anti Christmas."

"Like I said before, Christmas is okay."

"Just okay?"

There was a smirk and Illya pushed his hand through his hair. "That's what I said."

Napoleon still wasn't in control of any of this, that was certain. He decided to play it cool and tried to think of something smart to say, but he didn't get a chance. Something hit him right in the face, his first instinct was to go for his gun, but luckily the sound of kids laughing and feeling how cold the missile had been stopped him.

He pulled his scarf up and wiped his face and by the time he'd done so world war three: the great snowball battle, had broken out between Illya and three children.

"Well don't just stand there, we're under attack!" Illya said as he scooped up a handful of snow and sent it hurtling to the other side of the road.

"Yes sir."


End file.
